All for a Son
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: Like a coin, there are two sides to every story.


Disclaimer: This story gives me no profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Written for my English Bible Lit. class.

* * *

All for a Son

_"Now Sarai, Abram's wife, bore him no children.__ She had an Egyptian slave-girl whose name was Hagar" - Genesis 16:1_

Another month... Another month has come and gone, and I remain barren. For over a week I had almost dared to hope, as the way of women did not come at its usual time. Perhaps now the Lord finally was going to keep His promise to Abram. But no. Disgrace and yearning still cling to me. And my husband's God does not remember me.

_Why?_ The word echoes in my head. _Why?_ When it has been so many years since my husband was promised a son of his own flesh. What have I done?

Pushing away the painful questions, I turn to Hagar, my slave-girl, waiting expectantly nearby. I take a moment to admire her young face and slender figure. I've heard she has been observed by some of the herdsmen. Perhaps soon she will be starting a family of her own... I swallow thickly.

"Take the wash to the stream," I say, nodding to the basket in the corner of the tent.

She nods silently and moves to do my bidding. I return to preparing the bread, yet my gaze is drawn back to Hagar as she effortlessly picks up the basket. I watch the girl thoughtfully as she walks out of the tent.

_Maybe...you misunderstood the promise_, the thought brushes my mind. I shiver despite the day being so warm. _Perhaps it is not you yourself who will provide a son. Have not other women had children through their maids?_

_Is it possible?_ I wonder. Had my husband misinterpreted what his God had said? I cradle my stomach, tears forming behind my closed lids. My longing may not be fully satisfied, nor my disgrace taken away, but the Lord's promise would come to pass. ..._This is only way_.

My steps feel heavy as I leave the tent, and my heart remains troubled. I shake my head firmly. I will urge Abram to take Hagar as a wife, that she will perhaps give us the son we've desired for so long. Then I will prepare the girl...

* * *

_"But Abram said to Sarai, 'Your slave-girl is in your power; do to her as you please.' Then Sarai dealt harshly with her" - Genesis 16:6_

I lie on my side. Only in this position do I feel any sense of comfort and security. I bit my tongue hard, turning the scream that wants to escape into a broken whimper. Abigail pats my shoulder gently in comfort, apology, and continues tending to my back. I never suspected my mistress of having such strength, not at her age. Before it was only cutting remarks, the motherly affection replaced by hostility.

_"She deserves it."_ The whispers have not been low enough for me not to hear, to know. Some of the slaves look at me with bewilderment, others in disapproval. "_Who is she to disrespect the mistress?" _They do not understand. I am carrying a son! I know. I can feel it.

Gently, protectively, I rub my swollen stomach with my hand. A broken laugh escapes me when I feel the baby kick against my hand.

This will be the heir my master has longed for, the one my mistress has not been able to provide because of her sin. If I was back in my country instead of this strange place, I would be given the honor of the head wife for providing a son to my lord. Yet I will remain only a lowly concubine. And my son will not be my own, but considered hers. Will she try to take him away from me, even his love?

I squeeze my eyes shut, another whimper catching in my throat. I do not know which hurts most: the physical pain or the pain of abandonment.

I did not know how master was not aware of what was happening in the women's tent. Not when the shouts carried through the whole encampment in the late night. Surely he would not let things go so far if he knew. He had been so kind to me since my mistress first brought me to him, awed and frightened. And since I told him it is a son I shall bare, he has been even more kind.

Three days ago I determined I would go to my lord and implore for his intercession, to give me protection from my mistress's harsh treatment. That evening my friend Mara shared with me what all but I had known: "_Do to her as you please."_ I shudder. My master knew, had always known, and had washed his hands of me. He would not protect me, his son.

Panic curls around me. What shall happen? What will become of me once the child is born? Will he be treated as I have been? Shall he even survive to be born -

_Run_, the word comes to me like a divine message. _I must run_.

THE END


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